Grace and Choice- Prologue

Years ago, there was a war between two worlds. Every man and creature from Elsa fought against the angels of Gladren. The angel world was shunned by the others because of its brutality and hatred, but they went too far when they attacked two villages in Hynix, the world neighboring Elsa. Eager to assist their friends, the inhabitants of Elsa and the remaining of Hynix fought against the angels with all their strength. The war lasted three years, after which the angels were finally surrounded. From the ranks of the Elsan army appeared the high mage, Airon. He vowed, on behalf of the people of Elsa and Hynix, that the angels would be spared, under one condition: the threat of the angels would be under the control of the Wellborns of Elsa. The angels agreed, and there, in the main sanctuary of Gladren, almost every angel was frozen in stone, and most were thought to stay there for many years.

The threat of angels was, indeed, controlled by the men of Elsa. It was prophesied that only a number of the sons of the warriors who fought that battle could change the fate of the angels. These numbered men are called Wakers, for they alone have the power to undo the spell on the angels; they alone can wake them from their sleep in stone. The only angels spared from this fate were the high council and a few others. The angels of the council were each stripped of their wings and left, almost forgotten by Elsa. In the other world, Wakers were being trained to do their job, and one by one, slowly as ever, angels were allowed to be freed of the spell. 

So, where do I come in? 

Hello. My name is Nessa Aine. I'm an angel. I fought in the war. I was awakened from the curse, and I know the angels' secret. 

Long-lived Crushes at West Pine High (part 2)

I'm approximately seven feet from the door to my AP Euro class when the tardy bell sounds. I wince and take the last few steps before opening the door.
And what awaits me? Only my least favorite teacher, Ms. Owens.
"Late, Mr. Finnegan."
I merely nod and try to make my way to my seat, only to have her block the aisle. Her arms are crossed. Even though they're like that ninety percent of the time, I can tell it's a bad sign.
I look her dead in the eye, a skill I've perfected over the last semester. She has this tendency to stare down her students and basically treat them like underlings, and she hates me the most, because I'm that rebellious peasant in the corner who makes straight A's, even though she doesn't really teach the class at all.
"Would you like to present one of your various excuses for this tardy?" She questions, raising an eyebrow.
I squint slightly to make her think I'm actually pondering the question, then shake my head. "No, not worth it."
"Very well," she says, moving to let me pass,"Now have a seat."
Gladly.
I move to my desk, all the while watching the faces of the other students. Everyone has their heads down, as if the evil teacher will give them a tardy, too, if they make eye contact with the bad student. I'm about to pass Kyrie's desk when she peeks up at me. I meet her eyes for a split second before moving past her. I slide into my seat and prepare for another lecture of why teachers are superior to students. After fifteen minutes of staring out the window across the room, I'm about to open one of my new novels when a folded bit of paper is slid onto my desk. I look at it questioningly before unfolding it.
<So, no excuse today? That's somewhat surprising.>
I look at Kyrie's back for a moment, then reach into my pocket, extract a pen, and scribble a reply under her writing.
<Of course I have one. But it's not like she'll believe me.>
I refold the paper and slide it to the corner of my desk. Kyrie notices it and waits for Evil Owens to write something on the board, then Kyrie reaches behind her and slyly takes back the paper. Seconds later, it's back on my desk.
<What could have happened to you that's so insane that she won't believe you? :) >
This is the reply I'd hoped for.
<Troll in the bathroom.>
After she receives the note, I think about opening my book, but I can't because I'm wondering what she'll say back. Is she even going to understand what I meant?
Owens turns to the board. The paper is on my desk. I quickly unfold it.
<LOL. Harry Potter reference. Nice. :D What spell did you use?>
Okay. I'm slightly ashamed of this, but if Kyrie and I had been exchanging emails when this conversation went down, I probably would have screamed. Don't judge. When a nerdy trekky finds out that his gorgeous crush gets a reference like that, it's a pretty big moment. So you can see why I almost screeched in class.
"Mr. Finnegan!"
My head snaps up and I look at Ms. Owens, who's glaring at me from the front of the room.
"Are you paying attention?"
I glance behind her at the board, where the only things she's written is the word TEACHERS in large letters above the tiny STUDENTS. I can vaguely make out a small crown beside the T in teachers. Or maybe I'm just imagining things.
"Now and always, Ms. Owens," I answer. She gives me a curt nod before turning back to the board. I hastily write a spell on the note, but as I do, the bell rings. The room basically explodes. Students crowd toward the door, and, to my dismay, Kyrie is among them. She turns and gives me a small smile before passing through the door.






Author's Note:
Fun Fact: In my quest to find the correct spelling of "trekky" I found this, and it made me smile.

trekky	19 up, 36 down
	1. A small greasy fellow with flaky skin who watches so much Star Trek that he can fluently speak Klingon. Showers infrequently. Dresses up as Captain Kirk and tries to get autographs from washed up 70's sci-fi actors, who have no other means with which to pay their bills but to show up at conventions.

Just a thought...

Okay, guys. We're going into serious mode again. Sorry, but this has been on my mind.

So around three hours ago I was like

 "gee, I should really work on my blogs, because I have to write, like, fifteen or something by Monday, and then I'll be like 'I don't have my blogs done and-

-'."

(You're welcome, Mary)

and that determination (ha ha yeah right) turned into

 "who am I kidding, I live for procrastination".

So, I decided I'd better catch up on the many vlog channels I'm subscribed to on YouTube, and a young English gentleman named Charlie said something that really made me think about myself.

I hadn't noticed this, but Charlie hasn't really been posting as many videos lately as much as he says he would like to. He's also trying to write a script of some sort (that's what I got from the video, at least) but every time he sits down and tries to write or make a video, something stops him. He says it's because he's afraid, and he thinks he's afraid of the viewers. 

Charlie's kind of like me. He says he's shy, and he would do things to make the people at school like him, like magic tricks. That's actually the reason he got a YouTube account, he says. And I guess he realized that, by the vast number of subscribers he has (he has a looooooooooooooooot), that they liked him. And that means a lot to him, I guess. But lately he says that he's afraid that if he posts something that his subscribers don't like, then they might stop liking him, and that's why he's afraid of posting stuff now.

It wasn't until I actually sat down and took the time to watch this video that I realized I'm like Charlie. I'm afraid of putting myself out in the open. I dread project presentations. And, honestly, sometimes I get scared about putting stuff on this blog, because I'm afraid of what people will think of me. Lately, I've been trying to get out of that habit of backing out because I'm scared of how people will react towards me, and I suppose it's going okay.

That's about it. Just wanted to share my thoughts. 

Long-lived Crushes at West Pine High (part 1 of who-knows-how-many)

For the past three years I've sat behind her, but ever since second grade we've been going to the same school and have been in the same class. When we started middle school, I only had two classes with her out of seven, and lunch was just pure torture. See, I'm not really the most social human being. Normally, I'm the one at the empty table in the corner of the lunchroom reading some sci-fi paperback. In middle school, the teachers had this "no-man-left-behind" idea that every student should have someone to sit with, even if said student would rather poke his eye out with a pencil instead of sitting next to Luke Dylan. As you can guess, Luke was, scratch that, is, the top jock of West Pine Middle, and now High. Yes, many a paperback were sacrificed in my battle to get through middle school. Thankfully, now that I'm in high school, the teachers don't really seem to care anymore, so kudos for me. I get to sit in the company of my Lord of the Rings novels. Anyway, this isn't about Luke.
It's about Kyrie.
Like I said, three years. Three agonizing years of staring at her back, at her wavy chestnut hair that, no matter what, is always in a braid on Tuesdays and a ponytail on Fridays. In the hallway, I've caught glances at her, and sometimes her pale green eyes met with my brown. But only sometimes, and ever so briefly.
Yes, I know, this is totally the setup of some cliche chick flick, where the shy, nerdy boy is in love with the gorgeous girl dating the football dude.
So why is this story more awesome?
Because Kyrie completely despises Luke. And that makes me very, very happy.
"Sup, Jay!"  This is shouted in my ear while a hand slaps down on my shoulder. I quickly fold the fantasy novel in my hands to protect it, in case the guy behind me is Luke. Thankfully, I'm met with dark grey eyes as opposed to Luke's hazel.
"Jeez, chill," Carter says before sliding into the desk next to me. "Who'd you think it was?"
I shake my head. Honestly, thoughts of Luke kinda make me paranoid. "No one. Just tired."
He cracks a grin. "Too busy last night dreaming about Kyyyyyyyrie." He wiggles his eyebrows.
"Stop making me sound creepy."
"That, my friend, is impossible."

The Light Behind Your Eyes

"There's...got to be some sort of reason."
I turn and look at her, but she's somewhere else. Yes, her head is on my shoulder, her hand is entwined with mine, but she's gone, in her own world. At least, that's what I thought a moment ago.
Is she letting me in.
"A reason for what?" I ask, trying to get to her.
She's motionless against me. I squeeze her hand. "Lena."
She opens her mouth and takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, audibly. I listen to the soft hiss of she makes as she does. That's the only response I get.
I sigh softly and rest my cheek against the top of her head. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing again, and her hand twitches in mine.
"A reason...for this," she says.
I don't move. She's talking to me. I mean, I think she is. Then she sighs and says, "Jax."
I slowly shake my head. "No, my name is Andrew."
She silent, and for a moment I actually think she's digesting this. That she remembers.
"Jax, do you know what the reason is?"
I sigh again and let go of her hand to stretch out on the grass. As I lie down, Lena turns to look at me, but she fixes her eyes on my shoulder.
"You won't tell me what the reason could be for," I tell her as she stares at me curiously, awaiting an answer.
She chews on her lip, then plops down next to me, her arms splayed. One is draped across my belly, but only until she brings it to fold with the other on her chest. "I did tell you."
I shake my head. "A reason for what? What is this?"
When she doesn't answer, I stare up at the pale blue sky. It makes me mad that I can't communicate with her anymore. Everything was so much easier before she become...what she is. I sigh, and in the chilly air, my breath becomes a wispy fog that floats up into the trees above us. I turn to look at Lena and notice she's staring at me.
"What?" I ask.
Could she?
She reaches out and touches the tips of my dark hair, twirling the strands between her fingers.
"It was shorter then," she says.
I frown and sit up to look at her. "What is the reason for, Lena? Why can't you talk to me?"
She shakes her head and says, "A reason for Life. I don't understand. Why did this happen."
"Why did what happen?"
She reaches out again and touches my shoulder. "You were different, Jax."
"That's not my-," I stop and remove her hand from my shoulder, holding it between my own.
"Talk to me, Lena. Why can't you talk to me, Andrew."
She bites her lip and simply shakes her head. "You'll understand. In time."

A Lack of Color

Okay, here's another one of my personal posts, so brace yourself.
Lacking in color. Sometimes, this is exactly how I feel, and normally it's not even because I'm causing myself to think it. Personally, I feel like people degrade themselves so quickly without even thinking or caring about what exactly they're saying.
Maybe they're people like me, and I really feel like a hypocrite for writing this. Sometimes I degrade myself so that people will deny what I say about myself to make me feel better, and why do I do this? Because there are times when I feel so crappy and useless that I need a little approval from friends to make me feel worth something.
I know that most of the time I'm a horrible friend. I'm loud, obnoxious, and am constantly trying to make things about myself. I speak my mind without first thinking my words over, and most of the time those words hurt the one I'm speaking to without my knowing. When this happens, I never forget it. That's one of my problems. I never, ever forget my stupid mistakes, and they always pop back up to make me feel horrible.
Lack of color. What is the color? Personality? Creativity? Support? It can really be anything, if you think about it, but one of the things I want to focus on is beauty.
Lack of beauty.
I honestly think this is one of the things that is not a color.
No one lacks beauty.
Though sometimes, I myself feel colorless in this sense. I feel awkward being surrounded by girls who mask themselves with makeup. I'm not saying that wearing it is a bad thing, but relying on it to feel beautiful is. I'm tired of my plainness being stared at from behind lashes thick with mascara. I can't go to even the densest, not even that formal event without my mom stopping at the door and trying to put lipstick on my lips. I'm tired of people telling me that the one thing they want is to give me a makeover.
I'm sure they don't mean it in an insulting way, but by them saying they want to "make me look better", I feel like they are trying to change me, trying to change to way I look. But this who God made me.
If God had wanted me to look different, He would've given me a different body, molded a different face for me. By hiding myself behind makeup, I feel like I'm losing myself at the same time.
So for anyone who's wondering, that's why I don't wear makeup. That's why I don't always wear the fanciest, cutest clothes.
Constantly, I hear, and am even told, "Guys won't like you if you don't wear at least a little makeup, or wear something at least mildly cute!"
I'm tired of girls and women being objectified as something that can't be wanted unless they change themselves to be a certain "type".
When I find the one I'm meant to be with, it will be because I can be myself with him, because I don't have to act differently around him or have to change myself.
I don't mean to say that you shouldn't wear makeup or shouldn't want to look as cute as you can, but just remember, the body you have now, the person you are now, you are that person because that's how God made you.
You're beautiful to Him, as you always will be.
And you're absolutely perfect in my eyes :)
So, as corny as this sounds, show your colors.
~Liz

I Still Love Him

"And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me.

We both knew it, right away.

And as the years went on, things got more difficult --
we were faced with more challenges.

I begged him to stay. Try to remember what
we had at the beginning. 

He was charismatic, 

magnetic,

electric,

and everybody knew it. 

When he walked in
every woman's head turned, 

everyone stood up
to talk to him. 

He was like this hybrid, this mix of
a man who couldn't contain himself.

I always got the sense that he became torn
between being a good person and
missing out on all of the opportunities that life could
offer a man as magnificent as him.

And in that way I understood him
and I loved him.
I loved him, I loved him, I loved him.

And I still love him.
I love him."

Lana Del Rey- National Anthem Monologue